The Months
by hopeintheproles
Summary: Summary: It’s amazing how things can change. But extraordinary at how things don’t.
1. She's down and out of luck

Summary: It's amazing how things can change. But extraordinary at how things don't.

What do you do when your doctor tells you you have 5 months to live. Do you change the way you live? Do you change the way you walk, treat people differently, make amends. Or live life normally, fool the people around for the sake of your own sanity. Why do people feel the need to suddenly see the world, travel around, live like you actually have a purpose. If you had lived normally, you probably wouldn't have seen much anyway. No need to make yourself feel special.

I don't think I'll do that, if anything it would just make me want to live for more. I don't want a taste of the world, only to have it ripped from my fingers, people make a big mistake with that, torturing themselves. If anything it kills them faster, it would kill me faster.

5 months is a long time to wait, apparently my "case" shouldn't be too painful. Only the last few weeks, that's when it's supposed to develop the most. But they have painkillers and hospitals for that sort of thing.

I think some people would get angry, at how calm I'm being about this. How I suddenly live like life isn't a big deal. It is, and I know that. But when you no longer have a life to live, it sort of defeats the purpose of pretending to live. Like I said, I don't want to get too caught up in this, I don't want to regret anything. I don't want to live. Well, wait, that's not true. I would like to live, but I don't want to spend my time enjoying myself, I don't want to get too attached to this life. My life.

I'm not too disappointed, I believe in reincarnation. When your soul moves on to another living system. I just sort of feel bad for the "living system" that has my soul. Pity. Seems a waste, now that I'm dying I can see why so many people hated me, we don't need more of people like me in the world.

I don't want to be one of those dying people who write novels on how the world suddenly changes before their eyes and they see things differently. I won't lie to myself, I do see things differently, things become much clearer. But we all die at some point in our lives, I'll wait for other people to see it for themselves. Not by someone like me telling them what your life will be like before you die. I don't want to tell people how to live, because I'm not living. I'm dying. It would be wrong information. I don't want to be responsible for screwing people up, I'm responsible for my screwed up self. I think that's enough for me, I don't need another dying person on my hands.

Although it would make sense. Dying people being responsible for other dying people. It makes for better conversation.

Screwed up dying person #1: "Hey there Susan! How many more months!"

Screwed up dying person #2: insert giggly squeal "Only 2 more months! I'm so excited."

Screwed up dying person #1: Hugging ever-so delicately "Congratulations! I hope they're not 'too' painful"

Screwed up dying person #2: "Aren't you just the sweetest! Good luck on your own 4 months! Toodles!"

Oh yeah, it sounds reasonable to me.

There are probably going to be times when I find I want someone to talk to about this, someone I can relate to. Someone who understands. But I don't see the point in it all. Talking to someone else who 'was' dying or is dying. What would it do? Prepare me for death? For once, I think I'll go into this inexperienced. I don't want to take a class on how to die. What would it say?

Scene changes to a classroom. Pale, old, woman sits at her desk in the front of class.

Old Woman: "Today class, we are going to learn that if you feel the need to pass out from your insert hand quotes "disease" (Teachers like these are very sympathetic and understanding) then you learn to do it gracefully and dramatically."

Sickly young boy sitting in front row raises his hand

Sickly Young Boy: "What for?"

Old Woman: Laughs maturely "Why for the entertainment of others, silly boy. People will need stories to tell their families if they see it out on the street."

Sickly young boy smiles in understanding and nods his head enthusiastically

End Scene

I don't think so.

Now comes the hard part. Do I? A) Tell all my friends and family that I only have 5 months to live and they walk on eggshells every time I'm around. Or B) Keep this my little secret and go for the overused dramatic death that shocks people to death while they talk to their friends and say things like "She was so young" and "She looked so healthy, what a travesty."

I think I'll go with option B. This way, if I die, people will say nice things about me. Whereas if I go with option A, people will feel as though they should tell me what they really think of me before I kick the bucket. I really don't think I want to hear "I didn't really like you that much" when I'm 3 months from death and they talk like I'm already dead.

I'm sure people will be upset, I'm not totally friendless. I have the "real" friends. Most people do. And I'm sure they'll be angry and sad and upset at the fact I didn't tell them and they wished they could have spent more time with before I left.

Which is bullshit.

The way it works is that they would not want to spend more time with me. They would try and spend more time away. They would visit me, then make up an excuse to leave because they wouldn't know how to talk normally around someone who is dying. And when I would be around groups of people they wouldn't be themselves and joke around. They would be afraid they would say the "wrong" thing and I would get emotional and cry and they would be left in the awkward moment where the 'dying' 'friend' is having a mental breakdown due to her illness.

But with me it wouldn't be like that. I don't think I'll be having those emotional moments. The dying person does not shut down and cry because that's what the people affected get to do. If the dying person can't stay strong, then you can count on the fact that the people around you won't be. I can't count on friends to be strong for me. It's a crapshoot. You cannot guarantee that a friend will be strong, that they can talk to you about you dying and not burst out into tears. It's the safest way to not tell them.

I think the last thing I want for what's left in my time is to have no arguments, or as little as possible. I don't want friends crying for days at a time because the last thing they said was "Fuck you bitch!" or "Well I never liked you anyway!"

That's a hard thing to handle.

The last words always seem the most important to people, like the very last words you say to them will define if you go to heaven or hell.

That's a load of crap. It's all about the past memories, I don't think I would care less if the last words someone said to me was "Yeah, the dog crapped on your expensive carpet so I sold your house cuz I don't care about you." If that person had been good to me my whole life before, I would just blame the words on drugs or hysterics because a friend is dying.

Words can be unbelievable, actions are justifiable.

You can't believe someone is your best friend when just almost got run over by a truck and they said "Oh man! I tried to save you but my foot got caught." But if you were in the middle of a road with a huge truck roaring and honking its horn at you while going 90 miles an hour and your best friend pushed you out of the way. I think that might signal something worth appreciating.

I think I want my time to be as uneventful as humanly possible. I don't need things happening to me that would make me want to stay here. I don't want to not die, more than I'm already against it. Although I don't know what it would change.

I suppose, that if things happened that made me want to stay, it would make the dying process a hell of a lot harder than it already has to be.

I just don't want to suffer, more of a loss than I have to. People will cry at my funeral because of a loss of a friend.

I'm losing my life.

End Chapter

A/N: Alright, chapter 1 is up. Who do you think this person is: ) I like this story. It's very 'angsty', which is my favourite topic. Lots of goodness to come so please R and R.

Also, I'm thinking that this story will replace my other story "The Steps". So I want to know from you (the readers) whether you want Story #1 (The Months) or Story #2 (The Steps). AND if you want a Romance #1 (Jackie and Eric) or Romance #2 (Jackie and Hyde) Please tell me so I can make a good story : )!


	2. The torch that dwindles slowly

"It's always the beautiful ones." I said. Across from me sat the therapist I was paying. I know that I can't talk to anyone, but they're paid to listen. And all I need is for someone to listen to what I have to say.

"Maybe that's what the higher power wanted. A cruel way for him to tell us to get our morals straight. In the movies, it happens often. Beautiful people make big, ugly, sacrifices to show the audience beautiful people suffer too. It's the same in real life. Only now, you could have an audience that could care less. The only drama people want to see is on a television. You know why? Because it's fake, it's all fake. In real life, people don't want to listen to your problems. People don't want to hear about problems. They want to believe it's all made up, they want the attention to focus on them. In the movies, it's fake, so it's not a real person."

I look out to the window and watch the birds fly from the branch on the tree. Sometimes I think about it, killing myself now, not having to deal with this extra bullshit, getting it over with. Taking a victory over destiny. Over fate. Over life. Although the reward for 1st place doesn't seem that rewarding against life. But I usually wave the thought away. I'm going to die anyway, I might as well let the natural causes resume it's course. It's only fair.

Of course this is all in my head, I don't want to let Mrs. Therapist get too much information. She might just enjoy herself then, and I can't let that happen.

Mrs. Therapist: "You seem to know more than I do Mrs. Burkhardt. Tell me why you are here?"

I look over to her, her tone is not snide and accusing. But it flows, like a river. Like a waterfall, like a glass being poured. I want to ask her why her voice is like that. But I don't think I'll get a real answer.

"Because I want to have someone listen to what I have to say."

I say it like it's the most obvious question in the world.

Mrs. Therapist shakes her head like a disappointed mother and asks again.

Mrs. Therapist: "What is your purpose in this life?"

Oh, I get it. Why am I here? The question is obvious, the answer is predictable.

"To appreciate life. No matter, what it takes to see that."

I grin. She cocks her head to the side, as if asking how I can know that and still want to be here. I don't think she'll question me, afraid maybe I'll take my money somewhere else? Probably.

She's probably still wondering, but, like I said before. Dying, makes things hell of a lot clearer.

Mrs. Therapist: "And have you learned to appreciate things? What is this limit that has made you realize you need to appreciate life?"

Ohh, she's good. But not good enough.

"I had a near death accident. Bleeding to death. I was hit by a truck." My voice is smooth, no bumps, no cracks. No nervous eye twitches. She nods her head in acceptance of my answer. I don't need her acceptance, I don't need anyone's acceptance. Not into society, into life. Life turned me down, they disapproved. I disagreed.

Mrs. Therapist turns her head to the clock, anxious for the time to run out. We have 10 minutes left, normally I would feel sorry for her and leave. But not this time, maybe I want to see her squirm.

I don't get nervous anymore, I don't worry about what people think of me. Because they are the ones who are leading a life on misguided tracks, they get to suffer and toil through their life wondering what they are here to do. My life is leading to death. People would usually ask:

People: "But all out lives are leading to death. What makes you so special?"

I shake my head and grin "wisely" and respond.

"I'm ahead of the line."

And it's true. I always wanted to be treated like a V.I.P. Now I get it, I'm first in line for death, what a bonus.

The 10 minutes goes by slowly, the clock on the wall ticks degradingly. 'You have no time for games' it tells me. I don't listen. This is my life now, whose it was before I have no idea. But I control it, I get to be who I want.

Mrs. Therapist grins nervously and ends our session 5 minutes early. I walk to the door and turn around.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

Unfortunately, she is sitting down. I do not get to watch her faint.

("How vain it is to sit down and write when you have not stood up to live")

I walk down the stairs to the basement and plop myself down in-between my friends. It is the only thing I can expect to be constant in my life, I know I don't want it to change.

I don't like change very much, but here I am, the epitome of it. It's Hyde sitting on his usual chair, Eric next to me, Kelso on my other side, Donna on the chair and Fez is sitting on the floor.

Donna: "Where were you today Jackie."

I smile, I might as well not lie to them too much while I'm alive. Besides, they could get a kick out of this.

"Oh, right, I was at my therapists."

5 heads turn to look at me, wow, that takes a lot, Charlie's Angels is on.

Eric: "You go to a therapist? Why?"

"Well, I wanted someone to listen to me when I talked."

Fez: "Jackie, that is not something you go to a therapist for, that is what you have friends for."

Poor Fez, no matter how long he stays here, he will always be too clueless for his own good. So I laugh in spite of myself and say.

"Fez, I don't think anyone in this room could care less about what I say. Unless I talk Feminism with Donna, Star Wars with Eric, Getting some with you, Boobs with Kelso, and conspiracies with Hyde."

They are all dumbstruck, and for the first moment, I don't know why. But then I remember, I called them by their last names. Wow, for a dying person, I really don't get emotional. First names are for people with feelings.

Kelso: "Since when do you call me Kelso? And since when do you call Hyde, Hyde?"

Hmm, think cool, think 'aloof'

"Since when do you want me not to care?"

That'll work.

Kelso: "Huh?"

Maybe I can mess with them even more than I planned. A little fun isn't doing any harm.

"Or do you want me to speak with the false admiration of endearing first names by which I do not own the energy to care?"

Eric: "Since when do you talk like this, what's going on?"

I relax back in the chair. I don't care.

"Nothing, I'm being weird."

Faintly I hear Hyde say 'you got that right.' But I found I didn't really necessarily care. Not anymore, they can live and react however the hell they want to, but my time is limited. I don't have the time to bicker like 7 year olds over things that I could care less about.

But what do I do when I'm not fighting over silly things? What am I saving my time and thoughts for? And who?

("Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company")

I walk into my house and put down my school bag. I'm not being clichéd and dropping school, that would make people notice things. Then they would ask questions. No one can know.

School has been interesting, I just couldn't see myself hanging around those bimbo's who have no idea what life is, so I voted for option A. Causing a scene and blowing them off.

Let's go back to lunch today.

For a while I just sat at the table with them because I didn't have anywhere else to go, I drifted in an out of conversation, barely saying anything when Sandi asked me.

"When are we going to cheerleading practice Jackie?"

Are you kidding?

Normally I would say this in my head, but it slipped out before I could do anything. 7 heads turn to look at me, I shrug my shoulders and stand up.

"I quit."

"What the hell Jackie?" Morgan stands up and shouts in my face.

"First of all." I sneer. Yeah, that's right, I sneered.

"If you ever get in my face again, you'll find even more reason to reconstruct your nose again. And second of all, it's not worth my time now, ever, or at all. Bye."

By the time I walk out the cafeteria everyone has stopped talking to watch the scene unfold. Curious as to what caused Point Place high's most popular cheerleader to give up her reign to the throne.

That's the part where I grin and say the green little men inside my ear told me to say it. Then I go off behind the school and light matches, secretly plotting half the schools demise.

I grin fondly as I retrace the memory, but the grin is quickly gone and I decide to head over to Eric's. There's nothing to do in this small town.

I walk into the basement and find Eric, Hyde, and Donna all sitting around. They all give me a round of applause and I roll my eyes with a smile and curtsy. I take my seat on the couch next to Eric.

"Jackie! That was great, we saw the whole thing. What made you do that?" Donna asks enthusiastically.

"Yeah Jackie." Starts Eric "It's kind of weird and sudden though, I mean. You just changed into this whole new person."

Do they want me to say something?

"Well, you know. One day, I just woke up and, BAM!" I say loudly, causing everyone to jump slightly "It hits me like a truck going 80. I don't like who I am."

Hyde leans forward and pats me on the shoulder lightly "Don't worry, we don't like who you are either."

I smirk at his ingenious words and continue on with my acceptance speech. Isn't that what I want anyways? Acceptance, from them. "So, I hop out of bed and see a therapist and give up my whole entire life." I sigh and lean back in the chair a false and sarcastic smile on my face "Next thing you know I'll be getting those prozac pills. Life couldn't be any better." I place my hands behind my head and prop my feet on the table. They all burst out laughing and I remove myself from my pose. Yup, I like who I am now. I like to think it's the real me. But this isn't who I really am. This is me, dying, and making a decision for my life. But they seem to like me better now. So why change for a good thing that doesn't cause any harm.

But I am causing harm, to them. If I'm a better person they'll like me way more, they'll get attached. And grieve more due to my death.

I just can't always help but fuck things up can I?

When I come out of my thoughts I find it's just Hyde and I.

"Where did Donna and Eric go?"

Hyde looks at me funny and furrows up his brow "They left man, like 10 minutes ago. They said goodbye and so did you. You feeling alright?"

Shit. Shit, oh god shit. I forgot. Shit, shit, shit, I forgot. They're sitting on my dresser next to my bed how could I fucking forget? My pills, once a day. If I don't take one I forget things, and get in these weird moods.

"Shit I gotta go." I stand up and make my way to the door. I reach the knob and it hits me. My head. My head, I hold my forehead in my hand. The pain, the headaches. It feels like someone has taken an ax to my forehead, splitting in two. I fall to my knees in pain. Hand still on the doorknob. I can feel myself crying out in pain.

I hear Hyde scream out my name "Jackie!"

I can feel someone by my side "What's wrong? What's the matter Jackie? Jackie. Jackie man, come on!"

The pain slowly subsides and I let go of the knob, I feel very faint. I feel myself fall slowly into his arms, my eyes half lidded. He's still questioning me, wondering what's going on. I should have taken that goddamn pill, he's gonna find out why.

I'm being lifted now, and placed on the couch, he leaves. He comes back and I feel a cool rag being placed on my forehead. Oh my god, that feels good. I let out a low moan, and feel myself getting sleepy, I should wake up, I need to take that pill.

I let myself rest for 10 minutes, getting the energy I need to take me back to my house.

Hyde is very worried, I can see him, feel him really. He's watching me like a hawk, one hand covering his mouth. He's concerned, he's confused. I shouldn't be putting all this pressure on him.

Slowly I take the rag off my head and pull myself into an up position.

"Jackie, are you alright?"

In my mind I say no, but outside I say "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. I take these pills for heavy migraines and I forgot to take one today."

Well, it's half true.

"You were pretty scary Jackie, it looked like you were dying or something."

I actually laugh out loud at that one. He looks at me funny once more. I shouldn't have laughed, that really hurt my head. I need to get home.

"Hyde I need to get home, could you take me?"

"Yeah." He gets off his chair and helps me up. This is the most gentle and kind I've ever seen him. It hurts to walk, it hurts to think. It hurts to look at anything. I just want to take a pill and sleep.

I've pretty much zoned out and when I come back to earth I find myself in the front seat of the El Camino. My windows is open and I'm sleeping lightly, the cool air and silence in the car all hitting me lessens the pain. Dulls the throbbing. The wind feels cool, drying my sweaty forehead. He stops the car and I find him helping me out of the car.

At the door I take out my keys and open the door. "Thanks Hyde. I really do appreciate this, ummm, I'll prolly see you later k?"

He nods and walks back to the car. I can tell he still confused, I don't blame him. What he doesn't know is that he probably just saved my life. It's odd though, I don't feel as though I have a life to save.

A/N: Alright, chapter 2 up. I really don't know when Her Mistake is gonna be up. I have like half of it done, but that chapter is really really long, I think it's the last one. So I don't know. Please review folks.


	3. Our Death Mirage

It's white in the Room. So white I shut my eyes in pain, the yellow light searing through my eyes and piercing my head. The light that could be compared to heaven and euphoria. The cause contradicts the place.

I de-robe and change into the stiff dress. Making my skin itch as if passes over my arms. I glance around at the room's decorative posters. A nutrition pyramid, the cycle of pregnancy, a graphic view of the stomach. Too bad they don't have a step by step poster of how to go insane, that might actually be of use.

The Room is slightly cold, the skin on my legs turn prickly as goose bumps dress from my toes to my shoulders. I think it's some unknown doctor's law that their cubicles have to be uncomfortable. I think they all sit at a meeting and agreed "They're already dying, no need to pamper them."

Bastards.

Dr. Monroe rushes into the room. He's one of thoseregular-name doctors who seem to have nothing about them to remember, like they've been destined to begood at biology and anatomy so that they could become doctors and tell 17 year old girls that they're dying. He shuffles the papers on the counter, leaning against it, flipping over the notes on his clipboard. Very doctor-ish pose, I wait for the director to say cut.

"Ms. Burkhardt" he drawls, a friendly smile on his face.

"How are you feeling?" I think about replying with the usual "I'm dying, how are you?" But I debug the guilt mode in my brain and swing my legs.

"Just fine. Yourself?" Smiling with my mouth, showing no teeth, I bite my lip to hold back those snarky remarks itching to let loose. I bet he deals with this everyday.

"Good, let's take this down to room 12 shall we?"

I hop off and walk down the pale hall, colors fading with age. Worn out and old. It's almost ironic how at ease it makes me feel. The ugliness of it all. Here I'm an equal. If that's not logic I don't know what is.

I lay on a tray and they send me in. I feel exposed, showing my problems to the world. They tell me to stay still and to not move and inch. I can't anyway, my eyes are glued to the ceiling, can't you see it? They sky? It's so blue today, with clouds scattered amongst it, white, so white. But it doesn't hurt. White like milk, maybe I could drink the sky.

"Great job, we'll have the information soon."

Zap. I zoom back to reality. We walk back in silence to the Room, when we get there he starts looking through the papers on his clipboard.

I sit back on the table, the crinkly paper crinkling even further. It doesn't like me sitting on it, ruining the paper beyond usage again.

"You don't have to pretend to be busy to avoid eye contact Dr. Monroe."

He looks up from his clipboard and sighs "I'm not pretending Ms. Burkhardt. I'm checking your stats."

"I don't need stats to tell me I'm dying, and you already know that. And I know what you're thinking, how long until lunch break, do I have any more appointments after this? You've seen thousands of cases exactly alike and unlike mine. You've seen us pass through here so often it's like were not real, not human. Like we lose our title in existence and individuality. I know all this Dr. Monroe, so the last thing I need is some bullshit doctor telling me I don't know a damn thing."

He looks at me and leaves the room. Maybe If I was a good patient I would thank the doctor for doing all he could, or maybe I would appreciate all the comforting words he bestowed upon me in my time of need.

Maybe if I was a good person I would try to make my last moments pleasant for myself and people around me. No offense, but I just don't feel like I owe the world any favors.

Dr. Monroe comes back in and sits in front of me

"It's spread." He says

I nod numbly and reply "Like you said it would."

"There's more." He takes a breath of air, like this is so hard for him or something. "We've discovered that there might have been a way to stop this if we had found out about it earlier."

I look to the floor. Why is he telling me this?

"But now, it seems you have a dependency on it, half of it is killing you, the other half is keeping you alive. If we were to operate you would either die or experience major side effects like dementia and shutting down of the vital organs. Which would probably kill you anyway."

I shake my head, I've been so stupid. If I had just paid to attention to all those signs before…

"We're prescribing you some pills that will help with the side effects." He explains, writing down some hokus pokus name that won't do a damn thing in the end. He hands me a slip of paper and leads me to the door.

"Everything will be OK Ms. Burkhardt." I want to laugh at how unconvincing he is, and how it sounds like he's used this line millions of times before. Sigh, nothing but the best.

"For now." I finish for him and walk to the car.

He could have lied, he could have. He didn't have to tell me that there could have been a possibility of living before, what's the point of telling a dying person that you could have lived if they don't have a time machine?

Nothing is the same. The sun that shines so brightly against the snow as I'm driving, the branches crested with snow, the slippery road so dangerous. They all lose their meaning.

They're all distractions, distractions to keep our minds off of dying. Dying is always a constant reminder, it can happen to you no matter what, any place, and any time. So why is it that dying always seems to be one of those million-in-one chances. So many ways to die, so many possibilities, and yet nobody you know ever seems to get them. Maybe a distant cousins friends sister on your moms side might have had ovarian cancer. Your Grandfather might have had diabetes. But it all seems irrelevant, nobody ever seems to die.

And maybe that's a good thing, maybe despite all the possible ways to die we can defy the odds. It just seems so ironic at how many people flood the hospitals and yet we hardly know anyone with a disease or illness or even death. Maybe they're illusions, one of those things we see, but aren't really there.

Our own mirage of death, fooling us to believe that death is all around and it can happen to YOU.

But there's nothing to fool, death is all around us and it _can_ happen to us. It's the ignorant people who don't know that, they create those families in the waiting room of a hospital, and they create those attendants in the green dresses after a surgery, successful or not.

I slowly come to a stop at a red light. My eyes itch and water slightly from being awake too long and not blinking. They're itchy, scratchy. Parents always tell you not to say scratchy because the correct term is itchy.

I think I'll start saying scratchy from now on.

I think I'm finally losing it.

It's about time……..

A/N: Wooh, sorry, I've lost interest in That 70s show fanfiction, but I've decided to update this one. It's kind of fun to write.


	4. Conspiracy Theory

Her hair on the dank, time-rotten, wall was the last thing Jackie was going to worry about, she decided. She was just too distracted to get high maintenance over something she would have worried about before. And as the old saying goes 'That was then..' words of wisdom her life, as of late, had been entirely ruled upon.

'As the dying often do…' she thought.

Should she have been concerned? No, not really. What was there to be concerned over? It couldn't have possibly been the fact that she was making out with Steven Hyde during school hours in a janitor's closet. The clichéd, tried and true, tradition would have made her laugh or chortle or at least humour some fine line of sarcasm, but she found that her mouth was occupied by a rather skilled kisser.

She couldn't be bothered, not at a time like this, when she had finally found a refuge in someone who couldn't care less about her. She wouldn't be around much longer, and while could she was getting her kicks.

Statements like that made her outwardly cringe. At separated moments she would take a minute or two and think about how cruel and unfair it all was. She'd close off her mind before it all really sank in, before the hysterical tears could envelope her in its arms (something she had yet to do) and Jackie certainly wasn't about to have that moment in front of anyone. If it could get to her before time ran out. But she couldn't be bothered, she couldn't be bothered.

Surprisingly, her rendez-vous's with Hyde were not something she planned. She had run into him at a record store and things had progressed before she knew it. That Before She Knew It entailed making out in his car and the basement. Not enough to give her a badass pass but it was enough to keep her intrigued, which was difficult with her predicament.

The said silky tresses of ailing heiress had calloused and rough hands entangled in it. Jackie let out a muffled groan as she tilted her head up slightly. Her hands busied themselves by running up and down Hyde's clothed back, feeling the soft and weathered shirt over the surprising muscles she had been fond of discovering. Pulling him closer she could only breathe heavily as his lips kept kissing and caressing her neck. Closing any space left between them Hyde lifted Jackie on a rusted sink and leaned in, kissing Jackie fervently. Returning his heated kisses she could barely breathe, she didn't want to. She would have rather died having the best make-out of her life with a negligent badass than let a tumor get the best of her. She smiled into the kiss by mistake at the thought of her tombstone reading something as gratuitous as that. Not a bad way to go at all…

"What? What is it?" Hyde asked, breathless and mildly curious.

She couldn't see him very well because of the darkness in the closet so she felt safe to let her smile turn into a frown. It really wasn't fair.

Shaking her head, she smiled again and pressed teasing kisses on the flesh near his ear and felt his hands tighten around her waist.

"Nothing." Jackie said finally. And half meant it, resuming her "session" with Hyde. A therapy she much rather preferred.

She felt Hyde pull back to look at her. It was eerie, how much she knew. She knew what he wanted to ask, why she was acting that way, why she was so different, if something was wrong, why she had changed drastically in two months time. But it wasn't in Hyde to care, especially about someone like Jackie. But was she Jackie? They both didn't know. So he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear and kissed her more gently than before.

She hopped off of the sink and just felt something change. He was going to want answers.

She let him leave first, and stood for a long, long time in the reassuring darkness.

Jackie P.O.V.

I never planned on getting involved with him. Contrary to popular belief, dying didn't make me that heartless. If anything it gave me back the heart with a side order of sarcasm and a to-go bag of cynicism. It made me more normal, by standards. Nothing had changed from before to when I ran into him. Dying apparently agreed with me because besides from me a bit paler it gave me a kick-ass record intuition.

So when I ran into Hyde at the record store with a couple of Stones albums we immediately started talking.

I hadn't seen him walk in, but I didn't need to ask who was suddenly standing next to me, he smelt like the basement, pot, something sweet (I assumed popsicles) and something primitive like raw sexuality. I knew that even before I was dying. There was a reason that he got more action than Kelso.

He plucked the Stones album out of my hand and held it away from me.

"Have all those nail polish fumes finally gone to your head _Jackers_?" said sarcastically, of course, even then it didn't occur to me how close we were standing. "Abba and the My Little Pony collectibles are on the other side of the store." And he moved to put the record back.

Before he could, I snatched it back and examined it before I placed it under my arm and said, "Oh well then, lucky for you, killing two birds with one stone."

I wanted to impress, but at the same time I sorely didn't care which made me feel more cynical than ever. But what I said had struck him somehow. Perhaps that was the problem. I was changing in a somewhat good was for him, I was still a terrific piece of ass, I just had an improving music preference.

He walked alongside me on my way to the counter to pay, "Seriously Jackie, shouldn't you be bulling some old, defenseless person into buying think mints for prom or something?"

I turned and gave him a look before handing the cashier a 20 dollar bill from my back pocket. Hyde stared back, aloof as always, with a small hint of sneer (I still mildly disgusted him).

I took the bag from Rob, a disgruntled, pimply teen and turned to Hyde, "Like no way!" I half-yelled, putting my hands on my hips in full pep-squad stance before walking away, "I would never go near old people."

I still don't know, but I was sure I saw a ghost of a smile, but I suppose I'll never know.

He caught up with me and we both walked to the Hub. Not much was said, but when we left and he offered to drive me back to my house, or the basement, or whatever, we somehow made out in the El Camino parked in the Foreman's driveway. Which eventually led to the conveniently empty basement because let's face it, car seats are a bitch.

Nobody walked in on us making, but if they had they would have gotten an eyeful. I was straddling Hyde on the couch getting my hands on anything, his hands, arms, neck, back, fistfuls of hair. It was those callused hands of his that always drover me nuts when they spanned my back under my shirt.

When we simmered down nothing was really said. I stood up, handed hi his aviators he had casually thrown aside, and said an indifferent "Bye Hyde" to which he responded "cool"

Hyde was still Hyde and in his mind I was still Jackie. Nothing had changed and no feelings were certainly involved. Even if, I wouldn't let it, and any hopes he had, I was sure to dash purposely and inevitably.

Nothing had really processed of what had happened until the next day when I played my new album and a sudden urge for make-out time emerged. What I also didn't realize until later when I went home and changed my rumpled clothes was that I had immediately driven over to pay Hyde a surprise visit.

I blamed it on my sickness.

But then as I stood in the midst of the dark room with no excuse as to what questions Steven would ask I could do nothing but put my head in my hands, breathe deep, rake out the heated tangles, and walk outside.

As the light hurt my eyes I came upon a startling realization.

Did I refer to him as Steven?


End file.
